The Dove Who Escaped The House of Glass

So dizzy…
So nauseous…
Feelings I rebuke when I wake from my slumber.
A slumber exhaustively difficult for an insomniac mind like mine to be seduced into,
By Peace…

Still,
I strut my wings and fly forward.
At least,
In my imagination after my third blunt gets fired up.
With a 4loco for the craziness swimming inside of my wounded conscious…

“Hey,
Baby,
I miss you…”
I hear her say.
“Me too,
Babe.
I love you and will never leave you…”
I say back to her.
Just,
Until I quit day-dreaming and involuntarily enter back into this reality…
Or,
Wake up hours after drinking myself into a short-spanned coma…

Still,
I strut my wings and glide towards,
A dream…
A dream strong enough to over power every ounce of Darkness flowing inside of my pupils.
A dream rejuvinating the twinkle inside of each one of my irises at Week’s end.
At least,
When I spark that lighter to life,
And,
Get cornered by the cans in the store giving me a certain shine,
Through the glass…

A piece of glass representing the Glass House I was fortunately raised inside of.
Much better view in order to see what consequence has in stored for me in the future.
But,
Am I willing to suffer from those consequences,
Is the question to be asked…

Still,
I strut my wings and keep my head up.
No matter what I flow through an esophagus tired of the same…
While writing the next poem.
As my attempt to heal my pain…